


Shut out

by Elisexyz



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: (Obviously), A Bit of Fluff, Gaby Has the Brain Cell, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Introspection, Misunderstandings, Napoleon is Bad At Feelings, Post-Canon, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Napoleon notices that he’s never seen Illya fall asleep before him. He tries not to take it personally. (And he absolutely fails.)
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 36
Kudos: 237





	Shut out

**Author's Note:**

> *Tip-toes into new fandom* Hi! Uhm. I don't know how many people are still left in this fandom, but I have a lot of feelings about this movie and these characters and they are coming out in the form of fics. Mostly whumptober fics, but I'm starting with this.  
>  ...  
>  Weeeell, enjoy?

On the way to Istanbul, Illya refuses to sleep.

It’s pretty evident – pathetically so, really – that he’s tired out of his mind, his eyelids fluttering every now and then before he jolts himself awake, arms tightly crossed as he straightens on his seat and tries to look sharp.

They’ve still got more than four hours of travel ahead of them – because apparently their new handler couldn’t wait for them to catch a _direct_ flight –, Gaby is already asleep, with her back to the window and her legs on the empty seat next to hers, and Napoleon is beginning to feel drowsy himself, probably half out of boredom and half out of genuine exhaustion after their mess of a first mission together.

Illya is, clearly, not very thrilled about the new development. He might have not been eager to kill him, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out that he doesn’t even feel comfortable enough around him to allow himself a nap during a long flight, not when every time he jolts back to awareness he can’t help glancing in Napoleon’s direction, like he’s checking that he didn’t attempt to murder him during those five seconds that he drifted off.

Napoleon understands the mistrust, truly, he sympathizes, and he’s thankful that he doesn’t have that much of a problem napping next to someone that he would barely say he trusts, that would be—dreadful.

Though, to be fair, Napoleon is self-aware enough to know that if Illya got it into his head to kill him he wouldn’t stand much of a chance, awake or not, whereas Illya has an interest in staying awake, since he’d then be sure to have the upper hand.

For a second, Napoleon contemplates trying to explain to his new colleague that, really, he might not be trilled about having teammates after such a long time spent working solo – ah! –, but he’s hardly going to make an attempt on his life on a flight full of witnesses.

But, well, Illya probably knows that, and if he’s being paranoid reason won’t help that much, and definitely not from a voice he doesn’t trust. Also, Napoleon is tired. Let the big Russian deal with his problems on his own.

“Wake me up if someone tries to kill us,” he says, pretending that he doesn’t _know_ that Illya mistrusts him more than anyone else, as he curls a little on himself and makes a ball out of Illya’s jacket, to use as a pillow.

He gets a hum of acknowledgement and not a peep about the jacket, which he takes as belated permission, and before long he’s drifted to sleep.

Napoleon discovers, he isn’t sure if with disappointment or not, that he functions well with a team. Or at least, with _this_ team specifically. Months and missions go by, some right on top of each other, some leaving them enough time between one another to take a breather and enjoy themselves – _separately_ , because, for all that he comes to enjoy Illya and Gaby’s company much more than he would have thought, they can’t exactly live in one another’s pockets every day for the rest of their lives without wanting to resort to murder eventually.

Throughout all that, Illya manages to never so much as take a _nap_ while Napoleon is awake.

Not that he has been paying attention to it specifically, it’s just something that he—happened to notice. Because he’s a spy and a thief and good with details, sue him.

Illya likes volunteering for first watch when they are stuck on a stakeout at night, and he doesn’t sleep even when it would be his turn to do so. Any attempts to point that out, though, get shrugged off with: “I’m not tired, and it is not me that you should be watching, Cowboy.”

When they are sharing a safehouse or an hotel room or any other place where they’ve decided to crash in for the night, Illya seems to make it his personal mission to go to sleep last. A few times, Napoleon even tried to will himself to stay awake longer than him – mostly as some sort of game, it’s not like he wants proof that Illya doesn’t want to sleep in his presence _that_ badly –, but he ended up being out like a light before he could catch Illya so much as _yawning_.

He's thought of asking Gaby if he’s like that with her too, when they play couple and share a hotel room, but that would be too much, it’d give her the impression that he cares about this more than he actually does.

It's nothing, it’s stupid, but it _annoys_ him.

They have to trust each other at their backs on a daily basis, they’ve saved each other’s asses so many times it’s not even worth keeping score, and yet Illya apparently can’t trust him not to strangle him in his sleep if he takes a nap. That’s just _unfair_. And rude. Completely uncalled for.

Not that Napoleon has any intention of doing much about it, besides keeping a silent, embarrassing grudge.

They are at Napoleon’s apartment, waiting for Gaby to come back with takeout after she dropped off their reports. They usually would rather unwind separately after a mission, but it was a long, messy one, and they figured it’d be better to get all the paperwork out of the way at once, together, and then have dinner and drink until they pass out.

Napoleon doesn’t feel like going out, Illya doesn’t look like he’s up for a drive back to his own apartment, and Gaby seems twitchy, like she sometimes gets after a mission, when she doesn’t know how to sit still and she doesn’t really want to be alone.

So, really, a simple solution.

While waiting for Gaby to return, they made themselves comfortable on the couch, Napoleon grabbing the book that he’d started before leaving – it takes him a minute to even remember what was going on – and Illya presumably staring at the wall.

There’s no conversation, and after a while Napoleon pretty much forgets that he isn’t alone. That is, until he comes back to reality, takes a dizzy look at his surroundings and sees a big Russian holed up on the other end of his couch, his back on him and not moving an inch.

If it were anybody else, he’d assume he’s sleeping.

“Peril?” he calls, quietly, beginning to set his book down. Nothing. “Peril? Are you awake?” he tries again, slowly moving as if to get up. No answer.

Alright, so, what are the chances that he managed to hide some horrible injury from both him and Gaby the whole time and that he’s now died on his couch while Napoleon was too busy reading to notice?

Or maybe he has fallen into a coma. Somehow. For some reason.

Because it is a fact of life that Napoleon has begrudgingly been working on accepting that Illya just _doesn’t_ like to sleep in his presence. So, really, both death and a coma make more sense than a post-mission nap.

He gets on his feet, pretty much tip-toeing around the coffee table, tense like he’s half-expecting Illya to jump on his feet and attempt to scare him or something, but he makes it all the way around, finally facing him, and—he’s most _definitely_ asleep. He’s curled a little on himself, with his face to the door and his mouth slightly open, he’s clearly breathing and he looks relaxed, it’s—so weird.

Napoleon lets out a disbelieving snort, feeling ridiculously giddy about the whole thing.

As he backs away, careful not to make too much noise, he considers grabbing a blanket to throw over him, but he quickly discards the idea: touching him is more likely to wake him up than a little bit of cold, and Napoleon doesn’t want to break the moment nor to find himself with an handful of spooked KGB agent throwing punches around.

Instead, he moves back to his original spot on the couch, a stupid grin stuck on his face and showing no sign of going away.

He doesn’t even grab his book again, he doesn’t look for another source of distraction the way he usually would, he just—sits there in silence and feels incredibly happy about the whole thing. He has _no_ idea what he did differently, but— _finally_.

It’s stupid and ridiculous, _yet_ —when Gaby walks through the door, he’s still grinning.

“Hey—” she begins, loud enough in the silence to make Napoleon wince, and he’s quick to throw his hands up, gesturing for her to be _quiet_ and directing her attention towards Illya, still miraculously asleep in the exact same position.

Gaby raises her eyebrows questioningly at first, only to break into a small, affectionate smile as she realizes the situation. She quietly closes the door behind her and walks to the armchair next to Napoleon’s side of the couch, setting the food on the coffee table.

“He just—passed out cold,” Napoleon whispers, still a little awed by the whole thing.

Gaby snorts. “Are you surprised? He doesn’t sleep much on mission.”

He’s taken aback by the comment, enough that he stutters a little, getting out a mildly unconvincing: “Uh? Doesn’t he? I hadn’t noticed.”

_Smooth, Solo. Smooth_.

Judging by her raised eyebrow, Gaby agrees with his inner self-critic. After a few moments of studying him like one would _prey_ , though, she seems to elect to have mercy and she shrugs. “I think he doesn’t like unfamiliar places,” she says, nonchalantly. “I always thought he spent our days off just sleeping and eating, to compensate. I was right.”

Napoleon tries really hard not to look like he just had an earth-shattering revelation. 

This _whole_ time he has been busy taking personally something that apparently just—wasn’t the least bit personal. Illya simply doesn’t like sleeping in random hotel rooms or unknown safehouses and he waits until he’s back home to get a full night of rest. It’s not that he doesn’t trust _Napoleon_ , in fact, his apartment is apparently deemed safe enough for a nap, even with him wide awake on the other end of the couch.

He feels like an idiot and he’s _so_ damn relieved too.

“Uhm, that makes sense, yeah,” he says, as neutrally as possible.

Gaby looks at him like she thinks he’s too weird to even comment on, and he only thanks his lucky stars that she chooses not to press the matter.

About five minutes later, Illya sits up straight, blinking at them with big, confused eyes and sleep marks on one side of his face. It’s really too adorable for comfort, and Napoleon decides that he’s going to make an habit out of post-mission celebrations at his apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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